


A Good Hurt

by thebearking



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bruises, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gender-neutral Reader, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Other, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 13:23:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7465020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebearking/pseuds/thebearking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a wonderful night with Bucky, you wake up with bruises on your hips and thighs from where Bucky held onto you with his metal hand. Bucky is disgusted with himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like this ending is rly lame but idk. gender-neutral reader.

You opened your eyes to a broad chest pressed up against your back and a heavy arm draped over you. You sighed happily, relaxing into the man behind you. You enjoyed the clingy side of Bucky that you got to see when the two of you were in bed together. Still, you needed to pee, so you lifted his arm—the left one, the one with which he had refused to touch you and which he now tucked you under protectively—and wiggled forward until you could sit up and swing your legs over the side of the bed. The covers fell away from your naked form, and a chill ran down your spine from the cool temperature of Bucky’s room. You stood up, padding into the bathroom.

You flicked the light on, blinking against the sudden brightness. When you were finished with the toilet, you flushed and washed your hands in the sink, studying your reflection in the mirror. You paused, shutting the faucet off to look at yourself. Your neck was speckled with lovebites; they were a faint shade of red, lighter than the first ones Bucky had ever left on you. He knew better than to leave actual purple marks after everyone gave you such a hard time about it the first time. These you had expected, but what you weren’t expecting were the bruises littering your hips and upper thighs.

These were different marks: longer, darker, wider. Some were a faint yellowy green, while others were deep purple, almost black. Not from teeth or harsh sucking, but from fingers. Metal fingers. You could clearly remember the sensation of Bucky’s hands, both flesh and metal, pressing into your skin as he held on to you. You wondered briefly why they were present on both sides of your body until you remembered sheepishly all the positions from which Bucky had taken you last night. You turned to see the back of your body and discovered the fingerprints marking your right butt cheek. Oh, he had held on to you tightly, alright. Experimentally, you poked a bruise on your right hip; it ached slightly. You would have to let them heal before getting rough with Bucky again.

“I’m sorry.”

You whipped your head around to see Bucky standing at the entrance to the bathroom, as naked as you were. His eyes were wide with horror, his jaw slack as he gaped at you. You stepped toward him. “It’s fine, Buck, they don’t hurt too ba—”

“I hurt you.” He lurched away from you, his voice hoarse. “My arm… I left bruises on you. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Your eyes softened. “Bucky, honestly, it’s O.K. Just give me some time to heal and we can—Bucky?”

He had his head in his hands, his whole body shaking as he walked back to the bed and sat down on it, rocking back and forth. He was mumbling to himself over and over. From the sounds of it, it seemed to be a incoherent combination of English apologies and harsh Russian scolding. You could pick out a few parts of his rushed apology before the words were so fast they were unintelligible: “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… I don’t deserve to… I can’t do this, not to you… I’m _sorry_ …”

You reentered the bedroom, flicking the bathroom light off. You knelt in front of him, but he was shying away from you. “James, please, look at me. Look at me!” you demanded, more harshly than you’d intended. You grabbed his wrists.

Bucky froze, allowing you to part his hands so you could look at him. You were staring straight into his eyes and he couldn’t handle it. He could only see the bruises he’d created on your body, your precious body that you had entrusted him to care for, to protect. He had marked you up like one of his old targets. You were more to him than that. You deserved better than that. He started trembling again, unable to look away from you.

“James,” you murmured, rising to your feet. Bucky shivered at your closeness, his whole body stiffening as you wrapped your arms around his neck and settled in his lap. His gaze was locked on the bruises on your right thigh; you lifted his chin until his eyes were on yours. “I trust you. I know you’d never hurt me on purpose.” You gazed deep into his steel blue eyes and swore that you saw tears brimming in them. You blinked, feeling tears of your own start to form. “Don’t you ever consider yourself unworthy of me. I _know_  you. I know how kind and how loving you are, how much you care about me, and I trust myself with you. Even if you do get rough with me, it is _never_  out of hate, out of anger. It’s always out of love, and I know that. You know that, don’t you?”

He didn’t like how sad you looked. This wasn’t your fault, yet he could see how much of the blame you put on yourself. After careful deliberation, he rasped, “I… I do.”

You smiled, so softly, so sweetly. Bucky knew he didn’t deserve that smile, nobody did, but maybe, if what you said was true, if you believed in him as much as you said… maybe he deserved a little more than anyone else did.

“Good,” you whispered, leaning forward to kiss his forehead.

The action was so tender, so loving, so soothing. You held your face in his hands and kissed his mouth, your lips moving slowly against his. He relaxed against you, allowing his arms to come up and wrap around you: first his right hand, then, gradually, his left. His metal hand curled carefully around your right hip, cooling your bruises like an ice pack, hoping to undo the pain, to undo the ache.


End file.
